


through it all, we'll find some other way to carry on

by wanderlustnostalgia



Series: teashop blues [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, Light Angst, Teashop AU, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, iroh is the gaang's emotional support tea maker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25126153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderlustnostalgia/pseuds/wanderlustnostalgia
Summary: In which Jasmine Dragon is more than a tea shop: it's a refuge.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Iroh, Toph Beifong & Zuko
Series: teashop blues [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820092
Comments: 10
Kudos: 182





	through it all, we'll find some other way to carry on

**Author's Note:**

> So a couple things happened: 1) I finished Avatar 2) I saw [dekuhornet](https://dekuhornet.tumblr.com/tagged/atla-modern-au)'s art of modern Zuko working at Jasmine Dragon 3) I learned that Iroh invented boba.
> 
> Toph and Zuko bonding over their relationships with Iroh was so pure I had to write about it. God, _protect_ these kids.
> 
> Title taken from "Desert Song" by MCR.

Zuko startles when the shop door slams open, the bell jingling violently from the force. Toph storms through, unflinching as the door bangs shut behind her.

“He’s in the back,” Zuko says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder without thinking. Force of habit. “I can take you to him—”

She moves past him without a word. No nickname, no sarcastic quip, not even a jab at the fact that his uncle’s letting him blast My Chemical Romance without scolding him (“Do you really need to broadcast your anger to all our customers?”). He watches, frowning, as she pushes open the door to the backroom and disappears inside.

It could be hours before she comes back out. Zuko sets out the last of the drink orders and decides he might as well take advantage of the lull in customers. He sets to work, wiping down the countertops, straightening up the shelves, taking out the trash. He has a fuckton of homework waiting for him at home and like hell is he letting his uncle close up shop by himself again.

She’s come by the shop a lot, has been since before she and Zuko started talking, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Toph so…quiet. Granted, he hasn’t known her very long, but her presence has always been impossible to miss, even when she was just a passing face in the quad. Seeing her like this, subdued, carrying the same bottled-up tension Zuko feels in himself on his bad days—it’s unnerving.

(And, fuck, were those… _tears_ in her eyes?)

A handful of customers file in, kids from the university, one or two from the neighboring high school. He knows most of them from classes, and at least a couple are Aang and Katara’s friends, who seem nice enough, or at least nice enough not to force Zuko into awkward conversation for an extended period of time. He can’t really hear what’s going on in the backroom, not that he’d want to. He’s gotten good at tuning these kinds of things out, especially when Uncle’s working the front during midterms and more likely to get roped into impromptu conversations about the perils of teenage burnout and family expectations and other things that hit close to home but at the end of the day, aren’t his business. Still, he can’t help trying to picture Toph with his uncle, anxieties confessed and advice dispensed over a game of Pai Sho. Part of him imagines her knocking back cups of tea like whiskey shots, but that might just be him projecting.

Once all the drinks have been served, the kitchen sufficiently tidied, and the long daily checklist Iroh keeps pinned to a corkboard above the sink mostly squared away, Zuko finds himself back in the lull, itching for something to do. The thought of pulling out his laptop and going through his history textbook makes him want to puke, so he grabs the novel Katara gave him instead, some kind of fantasy romance epic that Sokka rolled his eyes at but Katara insisted was the pinnacle of literature.

Three chapters in and Toph’s still in the backroom. Zuko doesn’t know how long it’s been, but the sun’s setting and he has no idea how she’s going to get home. Call her parents? Yeah, right. Get her an Uber? …How does that even _work?_

He puts the book back in his bag and sighs. His uncle will probably handle it, but…Toph’s still upset, and Zuko can’t just do _nothing._

The bell rings, and Pipsqueak and the Duke walk in.

“Hey, Zuko,” Pipsqueak says. “Sorry it’s so late, but practice ran long and Jet made us do drills for like three hours straight and we’re _starving—_ ”

The lightbulb goes off.

_Perfect._

\--

It’s dusk when Toph emerges, close to closing time. Her body’s more relaxed, and her expression is calmer, closer to the intense focus she reserves for wrestling matches.

“Hey,” Zuko greets her. He sets the box he’s holding down on the counter and pushes it towards her.

The smell of hot oil and grease floats through the air between them, and a grin spreads across her face. “Are those fries?”

“And beef teriyaki,” he says. “On the house.”

He bags the box up and hands it to her, and she beams up at him. “Thanks, Hot Stuff,” she says, jabbing him with her cane. “I always knew you liked me best.”

His smile, though tight with pain, feels like it could spread for miles. “You need a ride home?”

“Nah, Aang’s picking me up. You wanna come by later? Katara bet me twenty bucks Aang’s gonna kick Sokka’s ass in Smash, but I think Aang’s gonna be too busy making goo-goo eyes at her. Then again, if she’s inviting Suki, things might get _interesting._ ”

As much as Zuko would love to watch Sokka and Aang try to kick each other’s asses at Smash (and Katara and Toph argue over betting logistics), duty calls. Specifically, his history paper. “I’ll hang out with you guys this weekend,” he says. “You want anything else for the road? Some fuel for the, uh, Smashers, perhaps?”

Toph snorts. “If you think I’m giving any more money to their caffeine addiction—”

“You won’t have to. It’s free.”

“Oh. Well, in that case…”

He spends the next ten minutes measuring and scooping and blending to the best of his ability, careful to keep Katara’s honey boba separate from Aang’s multicolored lychee jellies, trying not to wince as he pumps an obscene amount of syrup into Sokka’s watermelon ice milk. He knows all their orders by heart, and while he’s nowhere near as proficient as his uncle, he’s been practicing. He’s pretty sure Iroh’s lying when he says he can’t taste the difference, but the fact that people don’t immediately spit anything out definitely counts for something.

“You need help carrying?”

“Nah, I got it.” Toph lifts the bag up and down like a weight. “If anything spills, I’ll blame Momo.”

He walks her out and waits with her on the curb as Aang pulls up in his old-as-shit van. Appa barks at him from the backseat, tail wagging, and Aang honks at him with enough embarrassing enthusiasm to make his uncle proud. Zuko waves back, wondering if the awkward hyperawareness of being a late addition will ever fade. As he watches the van sail down the road with the grace of a car half its size and age, he decides it doesn’t matter.

“You’d think more people around here would know how to raise their kids properly,” Iroh grumbles, coming up behind Zuko as he washes out the blenders. “I feel like I’m collecting strays.”

“You know you love it.”

Iroh claps a hand on Zuko’s shoulder and squeezes. “You must be starving,” he says. “Sit down, I’ll fix you something. Can’t write a history paper on an empty stomach.”

On cue, Zuko’s stomach growls. He really should remember to eat more often. “Thanks, Uncle.”

“Of course.” Iroh rolls up his sleeves. “So what’s it gonna be?”

“Whatever you’ve got.” Zuko pauses, thinking about the hours of writing ahead of him. “And an Almond Roca, no boba.”

“You got it.”

As Iroh gets to work, Zuko leans back in his chair and allows himself to drink in the moment: the empty shop, the walls lined with artwork collected from their travels over the years, his uncle humming in the background to some folk song. A safe place. Not just for Zuko, but for his friends. For the community.

Zuko wouldn’t trade it for the world.

\--

(“No boba?” Iroh muses aloud. “What is _wrong_ with you?”)

**Author's Note:**

> Zuko's affinity for Almond Roca ice milk with no boba and Iroh's complete bafflement are lifted directly from real life.
> 
> I miss college.


End file.
